


saint anthony

by cmc



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Frank's stellar taste in music, Marriage, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, karen just wants pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 17:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6997630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmc/pseuds/cmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank has a bad idea. Karen has an even worse idea. They get married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	saint anthony

**Author's Note:**

> THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE OH MY GOD. I know so much about applying for marriage licenses in Vermont now, you guys. If I ever get married I’m gonna do it in Vermont because I know so much about it. Also, please excuse my flimsy excuse to get them married, I know nothing about spousal privilege.
> 
> Al Green is the unofficial soundtrack for this fic, because he was on repeat the entire time I was writing this. The lyrics specifically mentioned in here are from [Love and Happiness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqqAnjY2Rmo).

“Will you marry me?”

Frank blinked. “What the fuck?”

They were in her apartment, it was late in the evening, Frank was on her couch, and Karen was, honest to god, down on one knee in front of him.

In about a week, Frank was going to kill a police officer. Multiple police officers, probably, but one in particular. He had been planning it ever since he had been on trial, and that sick fuck had whispered _"Think about what you want, Frank"_ into his ear. That had been almost two years ago, and he was only just now getting around to killing this guy, because, well, he wasn’t looking forward to it. He was most likely going to get caught and arrested, and he didn’t exactly want to relive that delightful experience all over again. But it was time.

This was the plan: he was going to wait in the parking lot of the prison complex where the cop worked, where Fisk still was and where Frank had successfully wiped out most of Cell Block D. He had been monitoring the place for the past month, and he memorized when the cops would pull up for their shifts and relieve those already on guard. The one he was looking for was currently working the night shift, so he got there late in the evening and stayed until the morning. When he pulled up in his stupid PT Cruiser every night (a guy on Fisk’s payroll couldn’t pick out a better car for himself?), the rest of the night shift workers were usually rolling up as well, which is why Frank was anticipating multiple deaths instead of just the one. He remembered the faces of all the corrupt ones, so he didn’t have a problem killing the others. But the fact remained that he was going to kill at least one police officer while standing a few yards away from a heavily guarded prison complex. He had his escape route planned, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out. Whatever. If he got thrown in prison again, then he could have another fun murder spree before escaping.

Karen hated the plan.

To be fair, Karen hated most of his plans, but this one in particular. Which was understandable. Frank could admit it wouldn’t end up on his greatest hits album.

“I know it’s not the best idea – ”

“Not the _best_?” Karen repeated, incredulous. “No, Frank, that time you kicked in my neighbor’s door because you thought you heard him beating a dog when he was really just watching _I Am Legend_ was not the best idea. This is a shit storm! No, this is a shit _tornado_. And the tornado is on fire. It’s a shit fire tornado. It’s gonna suck up everything in its path and spit it back out and then everything will be destroyed and covered in shit and also on fire.”

“You paint quite a picture,” Frank said.

“I’m serious,” Karen replied, standing up off the couch where she and Frank had been sitting and started pacing around her apartment. “Frank, this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, which is saying something because you’ve made a career out of _murder_. You’re seriously gonna go shoot up police guards in a prison?”

“Outside of a prison,” Frank corrected.

“Oh, my bad, excuse me, _outside_ of a prison, that’s totally fine then,” Karen said. She grabbed a pen off of her desk and flicked it at his head. “You’re joking, right? This is a joke? Is this like that time you told me you were gonna kill Woody Allen?”

“I still might do that,” Frank said.

“Frank,” Karen sighed, covering her eyes with her hand for a minute in the hope that if she couldn’t see Frank this whole mess would disappear and she could go back to her normal evening of completely justified angst over how much her life sucked. “You can’t just go up to a prison and shoot a bunch of prison guards. Why can’t you go to this guy’s house and do it?”

“Thought about it,” Frank said. “He’s in Fisk’s pocket and he has good security. The easiest time to get to him is when he’s walking from his car to the prison.”

“ _Easiest_ ,” Karen grumbled, rolling her eyes. “Can’t you just – ”

“Karen, stop,” Frank sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I’m going to do this. When I was in there… the way that place is being run isn’t right. This guy locked me in a cellblock and made me kill everyone. That’s not – look, I know I don’t exactly preach rehabilitation through the prison system, but the fact is there _are_ people in prison who are going to be on the streets again, and if people like this cop are in charge, when people get out they’re going to be the same or worse as they were before they got in. He needs to go. It’s time.”

Karen looked over at him as he spoke, sitting on her couch like they were two normal people having a normal evening, like he wasn’t talking about going and shooting up a bunch of corrupt prison guards. If she ignored what he just said, she could almost pretend that’s how it was, and she was going to go do a normal person thing like order them takeout or put on a movie or go make drinks.

She sighed. Karen really fucking hated her life sometimes.

“Why go through all the trouble for this one guy?” she asked quietly, leaning against her desk across the room, looking at the coffee table between them instead of him.

Frank took a minute before replying. “Because…” he paused. “Because I remember how you looked at me when I started screaming my head off in that courtroom. After he had gotten to me. You looked at me like maybe you were wrong, maybe I was batshit crazy.”

“I didn’t – ”

“You did,” Frank said. “I thought about the look on your face the whole time I was in there. This guy, he wasn’t the whole reason I went off – you can thank Murdock for that – but he was part of it, and if he got to me, how many other people is he going to manipulate?” Karen finally looked up at his face when he paused, and she found he was staring right back at her in that way that always made her feel like she was somehow both six inches tall and as big as a skyscraper. “He’s not gonna do that any more. He’s not gonna make anyone else look like how you were looking at me. And if I get caught – ”

“Yeah, Frank, what happens _when_ you get caught?” Karen said, suddenly angry again. “Because it’s not an _if_ here. Even if you do kill this guy, which you probably will, there’s no way you’re just gonna walk away. If they don’t shoot you, they’re definitely going to arrest you. And what about _me_?”

Frank stared. “What _about_ you?”

“There’s no way they’re not gonna find out about our connection! About how you come over here almost every night! About how I knew _everything_ about this plan of yours,” Karen ranted as she started pacing again. “God, I’m an accomplice to this crime!”

“You’re not, Karen, nothing will happen to you!”

“Yes I am! I may not be approving it, but I’m not exactly turning you in either, am I?” She threw up her hands in the air as she paced, and then she lowered them to pull on her hair. “And then I’m going to have to _testify against you!_ They’re gonna either put me in jail or make me testify against you and I don’t know what’s worse! Unless – ”

Karen stopped mid-rant and spun around, looking over at Frank with wide eyes. Frank stared back at her for a few moments and slowly raised his eyebrows when she didn’t continue.

“Unless?”

Karen stared wide-eyed at him for a beat longer, and then she marched across the room until she was standing in front of him on the couch. And then she got down on one knee. And then she asked him to marry her.

“No, really, Karen, what the actual _fuck_ are you _talking about_?”

“I can’t testify against you if we’re married!” Karen shouted back at him, still down on her knee in front of him. “That’s a thing, right? It’s a thing! I used to work at a law firm. I know things.”

“I know it’s a _thing_ ,” Frank said. “But it’s not a _thing_ that you and I are doing or will ever be doing _ever_ ,” he finished, emphasized with wild hand gestures that seemed to encompass her and him and her apartment and the entirety of Hell’s Kitchen.

“Frank,” Karen said.

“Will you _stop kneeling?_ ” he practically growled, reaching over to attempt to pull her up to sit on the couch, but Karen just dodged his hands.

“This isn’t about you,” Karen said, continuing to slap his hands away as he tried to haul her up, like if she was no longer down on one knee her offer wouldn’t count. “Frank! Jesus fuck, Frank, I’m trying to save my own ass here for once!”

Frank did stop at that, and he squinted over at her before he slumped back on her couch with a sigh. He threw his forearm up to cover his eyes and sighed some more, like he was the most put upon person in the history of the universe and it was all Karen’s fault.

He was silent for a minute and Karen let him be, but she remained on the floor, refusing to get up until he saw her way. This _was_ her trying to look out for herself for once, because she was not going to testify against him, and she was not going to fucking prison because she happened to be friends with The Punisher. Karen had spent the night in a jail cell once already, and it ended with her being almost choked to death and gouging a cop’s eye out. She was not looking for a repeat of that night, so she was going to marry Frank and he was just going to have to suck it the fuck up.

Frank finally lifted his head from where it rested against the back of her couch and glared over at her.

“Fine,” he grumbled out.

“Don’t look too thrilled,” she said, and she finally stood up and plopped next to him on the couch.

“Am I supposed to be _thrilled_ at the idea of us getting married?”

“Rude,” Karen said, and she flung her arm out to punch his shoulder. “I’m a catch.”

“You know what I mean,” he said as he brushed her hand away.

“Yeah, I know,” Karen said. They fell into silence, staring out at Karen’s small apartment before them, over to the kitchen where they sat and drank coffee, the floor next to the coffee table where Karen sometimes came home to find Frank sitting down and stitching himself up because he didn’t want to get blood on her furniture, the TV that they sometimes watched late night talk shows on because they couldn’t agree on anything else.

The couch that they were sitting on, where they drunkenly kissed a month ago and didn’t talk about it after.

“Can we register at Bed, Bath and Beyond?” Karen asked after a few minutes of silence. Frank leaned over and shoved her.

 

 

 

 

They went to Vermont.

It has no required waiting period between applying and receiving a marriage license, nor a waiting period between getting a license and having the ceremony, unlike New York. So they piled in Karen’s car the next morning and set off north. Karen felt a ball of nerves in her stomach at the idea of finally returning home for the first time since she left, so she started rambling as soon as they got on the highway.

“And there’s this place we should go to that has the best pancakes. They’re like crack,” Karen said.

“Hm,” Frank replied, shuffling through Karen’s cassette tapes.

“No, seriously, they have crack in them. The owner got arrested recently.”

“Uh huh,” Frank said, examining what he thought was the Stevie Wonder tape.

“I used to go there all the time in high school and just do a bunch of crack.”

“Great,” Frank said, brow furrowing as he tried to decide between Al Green and Marvin Gaye.

Karen reached across the console and smacked the closest tape out of his hand. “Frank!”

“That was rude,” he said as he popped in Al Green, Marvin now lost under his feet in the pile of other tapes.

“You were the one not listening about my crack pancakes,” Karen said, trying to re-focus back on the road as the opening notes of the album filled the car.

“I was listening. You used to do crack in high school.”

“That’s right,” Karen said. “You’re marrying a crack head. You hit the jackpot.”

Frank seemed to suddenly remember why he and Karen were driving to Vermont and he groaned, long and loud and exaggerated, flopping down to bury his face in his hands. “I cannot believe we’re doing this. And you complain about _my_ bad ideas.”

“No, see, this idea is so bad that it’s actually the best idea either of us has ever had. Its inherent stupidity is what makes it so brilliant.”

“I’m technically dead, Karen,” Frank sighed. “I’m almost positive I’m legally dead. Dead people can’t get married.”

“This again,” Karen rolled her eyes and she flicked on her turn signal and changed lanes. “Guy spray paints one skull on his shirt and he’s magically a corpse. Me and a dozen other police officers saw you that night, Frank, you aren’t legally dead.”

Frank let out a quiet _humpf_ but didn’t say anything further, and Karen focused on navigating traffic out of the city for a while.

Karen knew this wasn’t ideal for Frank – he probably never wanted to get married again, and she didn’t blame him. Sometimes when he slept over on her couch he woke up screaming his wife’s name. A few months ago on their anniversary he racked up an impressive body count, even for him, and there was barely any crime for weeks after. One time Karen left out a bottle of nail polish and Frank had to leave her apartment because it was the same color Maria used.

He was getting better, though, and his breakdowns were fewer and farther in between. He took out targets with less blinding rage and more calculated strategy, now – at least, that’s what he told Karen, and Karen believed him. He wasn’t going to stop, Karen knew, and she had made peace with it a long time ago, but he at least seemed… calmer. Smarter. That is, until he came up with this whole shooting a cop outside of a heavily guarded prison thing.

Karen glanced over at him and found him reclined back in his seat, looking out the window.

“You alright?” Karen asked after a minute.

“Yeah,” Frank said, not looking at her.

“Look, I know this probably isn’t how you imagined spending your Friday,” Karen started, and Frank snorted. “But I appreciate you doing this, for me. I know you don’t want to.”

Karen was watching the road, but she saw Frank look at her out of the corner of her eye. “It’s not that,” he said. “It’s just… sometimes I forget that it’s not just me, that what I do affects you, too, just because we’re friends.”

“It’s not like I would be out of trouble even if we weren’t friends,” Karen pointed out. “I mean, have you met me? Hi, one time I got framed for murder on a date.”

“I know, I know,” Frank said, one corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “I just meant… I don’t know. When I started all of this a few years ago, I was so angry. All the time. About everything. And it didn’t matter what I did, because after… what happened, it was only me.”

He paused for a minute, like he was trying to find the words to say what he meant, and Karen let him think for a minute. The song on the tape ended, and it was silent in the car before the next one began to play.

“I forget that sometimes, that it’s not only me. You’re here now, too. And I’m not as angry when I go out at night. Well, I am, but not as irrational. I feel like I’m still me, in my head. I don’t know. Without that rage, and not being completely alone all the time…” he trailed off, and Karen furrowed her brows, wondering if she was hearing him correctly.

“Are you saying you don’t know why you’re doing this any more?” Karen asked.

“No, I know why,” Frank said. “I just… feel like I’m missing something,” he finished. Karen didn’t know if he was talking about motivation, or a reason to keep fighting, because she knew he was going to keep doing what he was doing no matter what. Maybe he just felt he was missing a general, vague something, which Karen could relate to. She felt like she was missing something ever since Nelson and Murdock fell apart, like there was some big void always walking beside her that she didn’t know how to fill.

Maybe Frank wasn’t missing a reason for fighting, but a reason to keep living, to feel like a real human person every day when he got up and every night before he fell asleep.

Karen didn’t ask.

“Well, I know _I’m_ missing something,” Karen said.

“Oh?”

“I had to cancel wine night with Jessica and Trish,” Karen said, hoping to hear him laugh, and he did, knowing it was a joke.

“That’s probably a good thing. I always have to drag your ass home because you don’t feel like paying for a cab,” he said. Karen laughed.

“Why pay for a cab when I have you?”

 

 

 

 

They had left New York early that day, and by the time they reached Montpelier it was only a little after noon. They found the city clerk easily, and Karen made sure they had the forty-five dollars for the application fee and both of their birth certificates before they started walking towards the building.

“You better be grateful I was able to get a copy of this,” Karen said, waving his birth certificate around. “Next time you blow up your house, make sure you get all of your important documents first, yeah?”

“I’ll be sure to bring you next time I commit arson,” Frank said, and he held open the door for her.

“Wait,” Karen said as they stepped inside, and she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “What are we gonna do if the clerk recognizes you? Can you get married if you’re a criminal?”

“I don’t know,” Frank said. “Last time I did this I didn’t have that problem.”

Karen grimaced, and she started to get nervous as she looked over at the line behind the desk where they needed to go. There was a woman working the desk, and Karen thought quickly.

“Okay, here’s the plan: we go up to her and you rip your shirt off and she’ll be so distracted by your muscles that she won’t notice you’re a wanted mass murderer.”

“What? Karen, no.”

“Oh, so it’s okay for women to be the sexy distraction, but guys can’t?”

“Did I say that? I always think that’s a terrible idea. There are too many variables. What if she’s not attracted to me?”

Karen scoffed.

“What if she’s not attracted to _men_?”

“So you’re telling me we don’t have a plan and no one’s taking their shirt off?”

“Can we just go up to the counter like normal people?” Frank said as he squinted over at the clerk. She was older, with a faded sweater and reading glasses. She looked incredibly bored. “My hair’s longer, I have a hat, maybe she won’t recognize me. And I’ll use my full name, so she might not make the connection.”

“Wait,” Karen said, looking at him. “Frank’s not your real name?”

“Francis,” Frank said, still assessing the clerk.

When Karen didn’t say anything after a few moments, Frank looked over at her. She was looking down at his name on his birth certificate, her lips in a tight line like she was holding in a laugh.

“Oh my god,” Frank rolled his eyes and stalked over to join the queue behind the front desk.

Karen joined him a few seconds later and Frank looked resolutely ahead as Karen smirked over at him. “Not a word,” he said.

“It’s a beautiful name. Very you,” Karen said.

“Karen.”

“Yes, Fanny?”

“I’m leaving,” he said, but Karen grabbed his arm as he turned away and hauled him back in line.

They reached the front desk after a short while, and Frank was right about the clerk – she either didn’t recognize him, or she did and she didn’t care. They filled out the application together, and Frank had to pause when they got to the section near the bottom of the page about previous marriages. One of the questions asked how his other marriage ended, and he stared at the little check box next to the word _death_ for almost a minute before Karen gently took the pen out of his hand and finished it herself. He had collected himself by the time he had to sign his name, and they handed the form over to the clerk, who glanced it and their birth certificates over before approving it.

“Well that was easy,” Karen said as they walked through the parking lot back to her car, marriage license in hand. “I was expecting some kind of…” Karen waved her hand in his general direction. “I don’t know. Background check? Google search? Looking us up on facebook?”

Frank huffed a laugh as Karen unlocked the passenger door for him before circling around to the driver’s side. “I don’t think they really care as long as we aren’t related,” he said as they buckled their seat belts.

“First cousins can get married in Vermont, actually,” Karen said as she started the car. “Alright, now we just need to find someone to perform the ceremony.”

“Courthouse?” Frank suggested.

“No,” Karen shook her head as she started to back up. “We were lucky the clerk didn’t recognize you, but I feel like if we go to a courthouse you’ll be in handcuffs within five seconds of setting foot in the door.” Karen turned out of the parking lot and onto the street, back in the direction of the highway.

“Where to, then? I don’t think there’s any 24-hour chapels here,” Frank said.

Karen flicked on her signal and merged onto the entrance ramp, going north. “I think I know a place.”

 

 

 

 

They arrived in Fagan Corners a little while later. Karen hadn’t returned home since she moved to New York. It felt strange, coming back here, especially with Frank in tow. It was like leaving a room and coming back to find all the furniture had been shifted a foot to the left – familiar, still mostly the same, but just slightly different enough to make you wonder if you had walked into the wrong room.

The gas station Karen used to go to in high school was gone, an empty dirt lot in its place. They drove past Karen’s elementary school and it had been painted a lighter shade of beige. A new restaurant was next to the dry cleaners. The little bar on the corner of the main street had changed names.

Frank was silent next to her as she drove. He probably guessed that this was her hometown – he knew she was from Vermont, but Karen didn’t recall ever telling him the name of where she grew up. He seemed to be taking in the town as well, staring out the window as she drove. She wondered how it looked through new eyes, if it looked charming and quaint and sleepy without all her memories, like when she and her friends used to go to the diner and eat french fries after school, or when her piano teacher yelled at her in front of the whole class and she quit the next day, or when there was a fire at the bakery and it had to shut down for a year. Or her brother.

She turned off the main street onto a smaller back road, lined with big trees that formed a tunnel so you could barely see the sky above. It didn’t take long before the little church at the end of the road came into view, and Karen turned into the small gravel patch that passed as a parking lot.

“Went here when I was growing up,” Karen said as she threw it in park. “I’m pretty sure the same minister is still here. He won’t ask questions, even if he does recognize you.”

The church, at least, looked exactly the same as Karen remembered. It was small, and fairly old, but maintained in a way that seemed lovingly out of habit, more for sentimental reasons than religious. It had always been here, probably always would be here, and even if Karen wasn’t religious she at least enjoyed looking at it.

“Come on,” she said to Frank after the two of them had gotten out of the car and stood staring at the church for a minute. “Let’s check and see if he’s in his office, and if not his house is nearby.”

They walked up the gravel path and opened the front doors. The interior looked untouched, too, the same dusty carpet lining the floors under the creaky wooden pews. They went down the aisle and over to the hallway off in the corner, and the door at the end was slightly cracked open.

“Mr. Winthrop?” Karen said as they approached.

There was some shuffling behind the door, and soon it opened and a man emerged. Mr. Winthrop looked pretty much the same, just with ten added years – Karen was pretty sure he had been wearing the exact same old cardigan the last time she saw him. He glanced at her and Frank for a second before his eyes settled on Karen and realization seemed to dawn.

“Is that little Karen Page?” he said, stepping fully out into the hallway.

“It’s me,” Karen said, giving a little wave.

He moved forward and gave Karen a hug, and she patted his back awkwardly as she looked over his shoulder at Frank. He looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since you moved! And now you’re a big time journalist in the city, huh?” he said as he pulled back.

Karen scratched the back of her head. “Uh, well, this is my… boyfriend. Fiancé? This is Frank,” Karen said, gesturing at him.

Mr. Winthrop stuck his hand out and Frank took it, giving a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Frank. I’m Robert.”

“Good to meet you, too, sir,” Frank said as they released hands. “It’s nice to see where Karen grew up,” he continued, quirking an eyebrow up as he glanced at Karen.

“Is that why you’re here? Meeting the parents?” Mr. Winthrop asked.

“Uh,” Frank said.

“We were actually…” Karen said, looking at Frank before turning her gaze to the minister. “We were actually hoping you would… marry us? Like, today. Right now.”

Mr. Winthrop blinked.

“We’re doing the whole eloping thing,” Frank supplied helpfully.

“It’s very romantic,” Karen added.

Mr. Winthrop stared for a few more beats before he started chuckling, shaking his head. “Come in my office,” he said, and he waved them inside.

Karen and Frank sat down in the chairs in front of the desk, and Mr. Winthrop circled around and sat in his creaky old chair that Karen was sure had been there since before she was born.

“I’m just going to ask a few questions, if that’s okay,” he began.

Karen and Frank looked at each other for a second before she shrugged. “Sure,” Karen replied.

“When and how did you two meet?”

“About two years ago, at, uh. Work,” Karen said.

“You’re a journalist, too?” the minister asked Frank, who paused for a second before answering.

“No, ah, she was writing an article about me. About my… military service.”

“Military, huh?”

“Marines,” Frank clarified.

“Well, thank you for your service,” Mr. Winthrop said, and Frank nodded a silent _you’re welcome_.

“And when did you start seeing each other?” he continued, looking between the two of them.

Karen hadn’t seen Frank for a few months after he helped Matt on that rooftop, but when he reappeared one night, knocking on her apartment door, he just kind of become a permanent fixture in her life. They became easy friends, somehow, settling into a routine consisting of late night talks with coffee and lots of bitching.

“A few months after we met,” Karen said. “We kept running into each other.”

“Asked her out for coffee,” Frank said, and Karen squinted over at him. He grinned.

“And you two feel like you’re ready for this?” Mr. Winthrop asked. “Why do you want to get married?”

Karen and Frank both paused before answering. Karen guessed she couldn’t say _because he’s about to murder a bunch of cops and I don’t want to have to testify against him_. That probably wouldn’t go over too well. She glanced over at Frank and found him looking at her, and he raised an eyebrow, indicating she should go first.

“Well, you know…” Karen paused. “I just… get this feeling. Every time I look at his… face. And every time we’re together I just, uhm, I just know,” Karen finished lamely, looking over at Frank for help.

Frank quirked a grin and looked down in his lap before bringing his head up and looking at the minister behind the desk. “She knows enough about me to hurt me and she doesn’t,” Frank said. “And I don’t really care about anyone’s opinion except for hers.”

He said it with such an air of assuredness that Karen thought he must have been recalling how he felt about Maria when they got married. It sounded like what he said in the diner, that one time, when he tried to get her to stay with Matt, a campaign that he had thankfully given up later. But he looked at her after he finished talking, just a quick glance, for half a second, but it was enough to remind her of all the things they had been through together in the past two years, every conversation they had and every pot of coffee they shared, and she thought maybe he was talking about her after all.

“And,” Karen added before she even realized the words were coming out of her mouth. “He’s… he’s my best friend,” she said, looking at the minister.

Mr. Winthrop’s eyes flicked between the two of them as he examined them for a minute in silence before he grinned and clapped his hands together. “Should we do this in the altar?” he asked.

“Really?” Karen said, sharing a look with Frank. “You’ll do it?”

“Sure, why not?” he said, and Karen and Frank stood up with him as he moved around his desk and towards the door. “I’ve got nothing else to do tonight.”

They walked out into the sanctuary and up to the altar, Mr. Winthrop getting them in position as he stood between them.

“Do you two have anything special prepared, or should I do the regular old ceremony?” he asked.

Karen and Frank both shook their heads, and the minister started talking. Karen didn’t really listen to anything he was saying, but the words were a gentle hum in her ear as she took in the whole scene. The sun was low in the sky, and there was sunlight streaming through the windows and hitting the floor at long angles. Karen remembered sitting in the pews as a kid, when her parents still made her go to church every Sunday. Her and her brother used to pass the paper programs back and forth and draw little cartoons on the back or play tick-tac-toe instead of paying attention to the sermon. Every year they put on a pageant for the Christmas Eve service, and one year Karen got to be a Wise Man but she forgot all of her lines. She stopped attending in high school when her parents realized she was a lost cause, but she went back a few times, usually to the Christmas service because the rest of the town always went.

Karen looked back over at Frank, and he didn’t look like he was listening too closely either. He was staring at her, and she met his eyes, raising her eyebrows a bit in a _so this is really happening, what the fuck_ kind of way. Here they were, Frank and Karen, getting married in this tiny, old church in the tiny, old town Karen grew up in and hadn’t been back in forever. She was wearing a plain pencil skirt and a sweater, the same thing she wore every day, except now she was getting _married_ to _Frank_ and she was pretty sure she had worn this skirt one of the times she had been shot at, and wasn’t that perfect. Frank was wearing the same thing he usually wore, too, a black jacket and jeans – thankfully nothing with a skull on it.

They stood looking at each other, like they always did – in the hospital, when she visited him in the prison, in the courtroom, her apartment, the diner, the woods. With anyone else she would have felt like she was being sized up, but not with him. It was like when you looked at a painting you liked, or listened to a song with lyrics you connected to, or watched a movie with a character who looked like you. Just seeing a little bit of yourself in something else and finding comfort there, in something that small that can somehow validate your entire existence.

Mr. Winthrop was still droning on, but suddenly he reached the vows. Frank went first, repeated all the stuff Karen always heard on TV and in movies, for better or worse, in sickness and health, all that crap. And then Karen was saying it back, _I, Karen Page,_ _take you, Frank fucking Castle, Jesus Christ what are you even doing right now, Karen?_

And then Mr. Winthrop was saying “I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride,” and fuck, fuck, fuck, how did she even get here?

Whatever.

She leaned in, and Frank was kissing her. It was short, and chaste, but it was nice. His palm was cupping her jaw. Karen kept her eyes open a crack, only so she could see the floor below them, and Frank’s shoes, the same boots he always wore.

It was over quickly, before Karen could really even appreciate it, and then Mr. Winthrop was clapping, a loud noise that echoed across the empty sanctuary and bounced off the pews.

“I guess I get to be the first to offer my congratulations,” he said, smiling down at them. “My one piece of advice, if you care to hear it, is that I hope… I hope your marriage doesn’t diminish your friendship. Being husband and wife doesn’t also mean you can’t be friends, too, and I hope you remember that,” he finished, looking at the two of them.

“Thank you,” Karen said, sincerely, and she gave him a hug, and Frank gave him another handshake.

The three of them walked out to Karen’s car, next, to get the marriage certificate that she had left in the back seat. Mr. Winthrop signed it readily, and promised to file it for them early next week.

“I was going to Montpelier on Monday anyways, to see my sister,” he said. They thanked him again, and he walked back towards the church, waving one last time back at them before he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Karen unlocked the car and they climbed inside. They both sat there for a minute, not saying anything, just looking out the windshield at the field next to the church.

Karen wasn’t sure what she should say to him, now. They were married. Frank was her _husband_. Should she crack a joke? Say something about leaving the toilet seat down? Call him _dear_? God, this was uncharted fucking territory that she had no idea how to even begin to explore, so she just kept her mouth shut and looked out at the grass.

“You said something about pancakes?” Frank asked, finally, breaking the silence.

Karen grinned, and started the car. “They’re at a bed and breakfast, actually, so it’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning. We stayed at this place once when we got our house fumigated.”

“So I don’t get to meet your parents?” Frank said as she turned out of the parking lot.

Karen shot him a look. “Absolutely not, _Mr. Page_.”

Frank huffed out a laugh and sat back in his seat, and through the speakers Al Green was singing _be good to me, I’ll be good to you, we’ll be together_ as Karen drove back through town towards the highway.

The sun was setting by then, and Karen had to flip the visor down to get the light out of her eyes. Even though it was Friday evening, there wasn’t much activity going on, mainly just people driving home from work. Karen thought she saw a girl who had been in the class above her in high school making a left turn, and she wondered when the next time she would come back here would be. She missed it, sometimes – not the town itself, but the simplicity of her time growing up here, just being a kid in a small little New England town and not having to worry about vigilantes or newspaper deadlines or getting shot at on the regular. She didn’t think she would ever move back to Fagan Corners, even though sometimes she did miss being close with her mom and dad and taking care of her neighbors’ cat when they were out of town and knowing everyone’s name and the way the little streets always looked after it rained.

Maybe she’d get to be that way with Hell’s Kitchen, someday, or some other place, that easy familiarity that built up over time like a second skin, where you didn’t realize how much you took comfort in knowing a place until you left it. She hoped she could feel like that again, but she didn’t want to have to leave in order to realize it, because she was shit at making friends. Apparently the only way she could ever meet anyone was if it involved guns or murder.

It didn’t take long to reach the bed and breakfast – it was just outside of town, and there were plenty of vacancies, so they got a room easily. The woman at the front desk got to chatting, and Karen ended up admitting they had just gotten married, so they ended up with only one bed. Of course. Karen wanted to staple her mouth shut.

Frank didn’t seem too bothered, and he kept sneaking glances at her the whole way up to their room. It was nice and cozy, with a big fluffy duvet and plenty of windows. The sun had set, finally, and she could see the moon in the sky.

Karen set her bag down as Frank examined the room. She went to the bathroom, and when she came back he was lying on the bed, his shoes off, already half-asleep from the looks of it.

“Please, please, tell me we’re done for the day,” he said, not even opening his eyes as he spoke.

“Unless either of us has any more stellar ideas,” Karen replied, crossing the room to sit on the other side of the bed and grab her pajamas. “Maybe we could look at mortgages, next, or file our taxes, or other grown-up stuff. Do you have a 401k?”

“Please stop,” Frank said, and he grabbed a pillow to smush over his face.

“Insurance,” Karen said. Frank groaned from beneath the pillow.

Karen laughed. “Go to sleep, I’m gonna brush my teeth.”

When she came out of the bathroom again, Frank was beneath the covers, and his breathing had already evened out. Karen couldn’t remember the last time he had taken the night off, especially a Friday night. She couldn’t remember the last time _she_ had taken a night off, either, and she was suddenly exhausted.

She climbed under the covers next to Frank, _her husband_ , what the fuck, and turned off the light.

 

 

 

 

Karen woke up with Frank’s arm around her middle.

Which, okay, in another circumstance, wouldn’t really be a big deal. In the two years since she met Frank, they had fallen asleep on each other dozens of times – on her couch, in her car, on Trish Walker’s floor on one memorable occasion, and it had never been weird before. She had always just gotten up and gone about her day and it didn’t matter if the first thing she registered when she opened her eyes was his arm around her or his head on top of hers as she rested on his shoulder.

But now it was weird. Karen felt weird. They were married. _Married_ married. Karen was sure her grandmother was rolling over in her grave because she didn’t have a big wedding with the whole family there. And because she married a mass murderer. But mostly because of the wedding thing.

And they had _kissed_. Karen had been too drunk to remember their accidental make out that one time, she just remembered that it happened, but god, their kiss yesterday only lasted a few seconds and she could remember every vivid detail of it. His mouth. Her mouth. His mouth _on_ her mouth.

Jesus, she needed to get a grip.

But first she needed to get out from under Frank’s fucking arm and off of the goddamn bed and away from Frank’s stupid sleepy snuffling against the back of her neck.

Frank was warm. There was sunlight streaming through the blinds on the window across the room, and there was a mourning dove cooing nearby. Karen could hear the sounds of people downstairs getting breakfast ready, but it seemed like it was too early for any of the other guests to be going to eat yet. Frank’s hand kept twitching in his sleep, and occasionally one of his fingers would brush against her stomach.

This was a problem. This was a big, huge, giant, colossal-sized problem. Her and Frank were _married_ and they were sleeping in the same bed and his arm was around her and she should not feel heat pooling in her belly every time he let out a breath and it hit her skin and raised goosebumps. She needed to get out of the stupid bed – her _wedding night_ bed – and put on some real clothes and brush her teeth and go downstairs and get some goddamn pancakes. He would stay asleep and she could deal with her Frank problem some other time, like _never_.

Someone knocked on the door.

“This is your wake-up call!” Karen recognized the cheery voice of one of the owners, and there was more knocking before there was the sound of footsteps going to the next room.

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask for a wake-up call.”

And now her problem was awake.

Frank’s voice had been a low mumble in her ear, still scratchy from sleep. He breathed in and out a few times as he woke up, and Karen could feel his chest bump into her back as he inhaled. He didn’t move his arm.

“You alright over there?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

Karen opened and closed her mouth a few times, suddenly thankful her back was to Frank so he couldn’t see her stammering. Or her blush.

“Hm,” Karen finally grunted in what she hoped sounded like an affirmative noise.

“Hm,” Frank repeated, and he flattened his hand down and pressed it against her stomach. Karen twitched. “You sure?”

“Uh huh,” Karen managed to get out. She wanted to stab herself in the face. “We should, uhm,” she started. Frank’s hand was still on her stomach, burning hot like a brand. “We should probably go downstairs. For breakfast.” Did she always sound this idiotic? How she ever got anything published was beyond her.

“Probably,” Frank said.

“There’s pancakes,” Karen said. He still didn’t move his fucking arm.

“Sounds good,” Frank replied. He snuffled a few more times and Karen swore she could feel his nose on the back of her neck.

“Well?” Karen asked. She was going to get up now. She was. She twitched her right foot, which totally counted as an attempt.

“Yep,” Frank said, and he didn’t move either.

Except then he was moving, but he wasn’t sitting up and moving away from her, he was shuffling towards her, closer to her on the bed, and then his chest was pressed fully against her back, and his legs were snug against hers, and oh. Frank was hard.

Karen let a slow breath out of her nose.

“Karen,” he mumbled in her ear, and god, she didn’t think she would ever get used to hearing her name in the low cadence of his voice. His hand twitched a little on her stomach before pressing more firmly, bringing her more against him. “Do you remember what happened that night, a month ago?”

Of course Karen remembered what happened. Frank showed up to her apartment after putting down some low-life who ran a human trafficking ring, and he was upset, and Karen felt sick when he told her the details, so they got drunk. Frank rarely drank anymore because he didn’t want to lose control, but it was a special occasion since there had been kids involved. Karen broke out the scotch, and half a bottle later they were both drunk and still upset and slumped far back on her couch, not doing much talking. Frank leaned forward to grab his glass and Karen suddenly found herself kissing him, and they must have done it for a while, maybe, she didn’t really remember. They fell asleep at some point, because the next thing she knew it was morning.

They didn’t talk about it after. Karen was half convinced she dreamt the whole thing.

“Yeah,” Karen rasped out. Frank’s hand inched lower and Karen tried to steady her breathing. “I remember.”

“I do, too,” Frank said, his voice low. He rocked his hips forward slowly, just a small movement, but Karen had to bite her lip to keep from doing something ridiculous like moaning. A sound still emitted from somewhere low in her throat, and she wondered if Frank could hear it. “We should probably talk about it,” he added.

“Mhm,” Karen hummed in agreement. Frank moved his hips again.

He started inching his land lower, and it hit the waistband of her pajamas. His fingers found their way under her shirt, skimming lightly on the strip of flesh right above her pants.

“So?” he said.

Karen had no idea what Frank was expecting her to say. Maybe it was _stop, we shouldn’t do this_. Or maybe he was expecting some deep, heartfelt confession of her feelings for him, but with his hard on pressing into her ass she definitely wasn’t capable of forming very coherent sentences. Or maybe, maybe, he was scared too, of putting himself out there, of getting hurt or of hurting her, so he was giving her a way out. Either way, Karen was in the driver’s seat.

She grabbed his hand and shoved it inside her pants.

She felt the breath from his quiet huff of a laugh against the back of her neck. He rubbed his hand against the front of her underwear for a few long moments, and Karen was about to grab his hand and move it again, this time so it was against her skin, but he did it himself.

Karen groaned as he pressed against her, moving in circles against her clit, and she was torn between pressing against his hand and grinding her hips back against him. He started moving behind her to match the rhythm of his hand, and Karen didn’t want to lose the feel of him against her back, but as she spread her legs more she slid down so her back was mostly against the mattress.

Her shoulder was pressing into Frank’s chest, and one of his legs was bent and resting on top of her thigh as his hand continued to work at her. Karen was moaning quietly, and she turned her head, just a slight rotation of her neck, and then she was looking at him for the first time since waking up. His eyes were dark as he stared at her, his hand still moving on her. They were close, just a breath away from kissing, and Frank dropped his forehead so it was resting against hers. He was groaning too, softly, as he looked at her and saw what he was doing to her. They were sharing the same breath, and Karen felt their lips bump a few times as she made noises and moved under his hands but neither closed the gap.

Frank sped up the circular motions of his hand against her clit and increased the pressure, and then Karen was throwing back her head and biting her lip, so he kept at it. Karen teetered on the edge for a while, her body tensing and her legs twitching, before she finally closed her eyes and felt her orgasm sweep over her entire body. Frank kept his hand on her as she came, but he was slower now, more of just holding her there as she finished.

When Karen finally came down she opened her eyes, and Frank’s face was still close, his mouth just a twitch away from being on hers. But he didn’t move to kiss her, so she just looked up at him. This guy, who had come into her life guns blazing and hell-bent on blood and revenge and justice but who somehow came to understand her the way no one else ever had. This guy who didn’t see her as some perfect, pure, innocent woman who needed protection, but as someone who had done shit, someone who had been through shit, as a real _person_. This guy who she sometimes came home to and drank with and cried with and shouted at and who now had a permanent indent on her couch. This guy who had somehow become the best fucking friend she had ever had.

Karen leaned up and kissed him.

It was nothing like yesterday, all teeth and tongue, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. She was still spread out, her legs open, but he moved his hand out of her pants to clutch at her waist. They just lied there for a while, lips moving, holding each other, testing each other out.

Karen pulled away after a while, but she didn’t go far, and he moved to mouth at her neck below her ear. “Are you still hard?” Karen asked in a breathy voice that almost didn’t sound like her own.

“After that?” Frank mumbled, still going at her neck. “How could I not be?”

Karen pushed him back against the pillows and leaned half on top of him, and she reached down and ran her palm over his clothed erection before slipping her hand inside. They were kissing again, but he was making low noises in the back of his throat that occasionally escaped whenever they happened to separate for a breath of air for a second. He felt heavy in her hand, and she kept at it, speeding up when it felt like he was close and slowing down when it felt like he was _too_ close. Frank broke away from her mouth after a while and flopped his head back on the pillow, groaning.

“You trying to kill me, ma’am?” he breathed out, so Karen sped up some more and actually kept her pace this time and he came with a moan, finally, covering Karen’s fingers as she stroked him through it.

She removed her hand and leaned over him to grab a tissue off of the bedside table, cleaning off her hand and him before throwing it across the room in the general direction of the trashcan. She grabbed him and kissed him, again, settling against his side, his arm still around her waist.

They stopped after a while and Karen leaned her forehead against his, inhaling deeply, breathing him in. Neither of them said anything, and Karen didn’t feel like she needed to. Maybe they’d talk on the car ride to New York, or when they got back to her apartment, or later that night. It would happen when it happened. They’d be fine.

Karen pulled back a little bit and looked up at him, meeting his eyes. He looked back at her.

“Pancakes?” she asked.

 

 

 

 

“You were right,” Frank said around a mouth full of food.

“Told you,” Karen said, pouring more syrup over her stack before shoving another fork-full into her mouth. “Crack,” she said, and she felt syrup drip down her chin.

“Totally worth this whole trip,” Frank said, swallowing and grabbing his mug to take a sip of coffee.

“Oh, definitely,” Karen agreed, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Best part right here. Nothing else good happened at all.”

“Not a thing. It was all awful, except for this.” He met her eyes over the rim of his coffee mug, and Karen grinned and held his gaze for a second before looking down at her plate.

She wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, when they left Vermont and went back to reality. Karen had never been one for much detailed planning, but the future seemed daunting even more than usual. Frank was still going to go off and kill this dirty cop, probably, and Karen didn’t know what would happen, if he would even walk away alive from that. He might get thrown in prison again, and maybe he wouldn’t escape this time. Maybe the only time she’d ever see him from now on was with a piece of plexiglass between them, his voice on a phone.

But who knows. Maybe it’d be okay. Frank had gotten away with weird shit before. He’d survived everything so far. Stranger stuff had happened.

Karen stuffed more pancakes in her mouth. She looked back up and found Frank was still examining her over his mug. He looked thoughtful.

“I think,” he began, setting his drink down. “I think I figured out what I was missing.”

Karen held his gaze. She felt her eyes going soft. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate any further, just kept looking at her.

Karen grabbed his hand under the table and held it, his fingers lacing with hers. “Me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> It’s my headcanon thank Frank didn’t go through with his dumb plan and figured out another way to kill that sketchy ass cop because he didn’t want to leave Karen. And they stay married and adopt ten dogs and are never sad again the end.
> 
> come cry with me about these two on [tumblr](http://ultrakarenpage.tumblr.com/).


End file.
